9. Nine
Nine
Lila
The scent of lemon and vanilla fills Beach Bites as I slide another tray of scones into the industrial oven. My phone sits on the stainless steel prep table, and I fight the urge to check it again. Luke’s 3 AM text shouldn’t make my heart flutter like this, but it does.
‘It was incredible! ‘—my small-town response to his sold-out Madison Square Garden show.
Hours later, I’m still staring at his text, plus his signature keyboard emoji—his little stamp of rockstar personality that makes me smile. It’s so different from my standard smiley face.
“Lila!” Jenny waves her flour-covered hand in front of my face. “You’ve checked your phone every ten minutes since you got here.”
“Sorry.” I adjust my apron and grab the bowl of cream cheese frosting. “Just distracted.”
“Uh-huh.” Jenny’s smile grows, and I know she’s about to start digging. “Let me guess. A guy?”
“What? No,” I say too quickly, which only makes her laugh.
“It’s a guy,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Spill, Lila. I’m dying of curiosity over here.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, focusing on the next cupcake with laser precision. “It’s just... confusing.”
Jenny gives me a knowing look. “Isn’t it always?”
The truth is, it’s more than confusing. It was exactly three nights ago, on a moonlit beach, after he congratulated me that he—
No. I won’t think about that kiss and how perfectly his lips fit against mine, how his hands in my hair made me forget everything except the sound of the surf, and how I felt his heartbeat under my palms .
“He’s dating someone,” I say, more to remind myself than her—Crystal, who I’ve only met once but felt completely out of my league afterward.
My eyes automatically go again to my phone, and Jenny reaches over and snatches it from my hand.
Heat creeps up my neck as Jenny eagerly reads Luke’s early morning text. “So, this guy is in a band? Cool!”
“Yeah. It was just a quick update about their show,” I say as I smear a generous portion of cream cheese frosting over more cupcakes. “Nothing special.”
“Uh-huh.” Jenny’s knowing smile makes me want to throw flour at her. “That’s why you have that dreamy look on your face.”
“I do not have a dreamy look!” I turn to look at the clock and see that it’s almost time to open the doors. We’re soon so busy with the morning rush that we don’t have time for personal talk. Yet, even as I serve the coffee and dish out the baked goods, my mind continues to sift through the details.
Crystal’s call is still sharp in my mind, her name flashing on Luke’s phone and interrupting the moment. Luke didn’t have to take it—not right then—but he did. And as much as I tell myself I’m okay with the boundaries we’ve set, the truth is, I’m not sure I am.
Part of me wants to confront him, to demand answers about what’s really going on between him and Crystal. But the other part of me—the part that remembers how it felt to be kissed like that—doesn’t want to hear an answer that will shatter whatever fragile connection we have.
Jenny’s voice suddenly snaps me back to the present, and I realize she’s been talking.
“Sorry,” I mumble, wiping my hands on my apron. “What were you saying?”
Jenny shakes her head, laughing. “I was saying you missed some serious flirting. That guy who just asked for the double chocolate muffins? He was totally into you.”
“What guy?” I frown, glancing at the register where a customer is walking out the door with a box of muffins in his hands.
Jenny lets out a dramatic sigh. “Exactly. You didn’t even notice.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s not wrong. I didn’t notice him. My head is too full of Luke Sterling to make room for anyone else right now.
“You should give him a chance,” Jenny teases. “He was cute. And he tipped well.”
“Noted,” I say dryly, grabbing a tray of scones to restock the display case.
“Seriously? He was a catch—and clearly interested!”
“Was he?” I busy myself with cleaning the counter. “Like I said. I didn’t notice.”
She throws her hands up. “Lila, he was ready to ask you out. But you’re too busy mooning over some guy who already has a girlfriend.”
“I wasn’t mooning,” I protest weakly.
“No? Then why do you keep checking your phone?” She challenges.
“I’m waiting for business calls. The dinner party was a huge success, remember?”
As if on cue, my phone starts ringing. I glance at it, then let it go to voicemail, not recognizing the number.
“See? Business calls.”
Jenny just shakes her head and goes to help a new customer .
The morning rush continues, keeping us busy, but during a lull, I finally get a chance to check my messages. The first is from Mrs. Carmichael, who gushed about the other night’s dinner and promised more referrals. The second is from someone who was at the dinner and wants to book a future wedding anniversary party.
The third makes my heart skip.
“Hello, this is Hunter Henson’s office calling for Lila Jeffers. We’re organizing the annual Mothers Advancement Program Gala in three months, and your name came highly recommended. Please call us back at your earliest convenience to discuss the possibility of handling the catering.”
I play the message again, hardly daring to believe it—the Mothers Advancement Program. I quickly Google the name to find that the gala is one of the biggest charity events of the year. Politicians, celebrities, business leaders—everyone who’s anyone attends.
“Jenny!” I call out, my voice squeaking.
“What?” she asks, her expression curious.
“I think,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face, “I just got my big break.”
She hurries over, and I play the message a third time. Her eyes get wider with each word.
“Holy shit,” she breathes when it ends. “Lila, this is huge!”
“I know!” I clutch her arm. “But can I even handle something this big? It could be dozens of people, multiple courses...”
“Of course you can,” she says firmly. “You’ve been training for this your whole career. Plus, you’ll have help. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I hug her impulsively, flour dust and all. “You’re the best.”
“I know.” She pulls back, grinning. “Now call them back before they change their minds!”
But even as I dial Hunter Henson’s office, my thoughts keep drifting to Luke—to the kiss we shared and to the complications he can’t explain.
Focus, I tell myself firmly. You have a chance at your dreams here. Don’t let anything, or anyone, distract you from that.
Even if that anyone has the lightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and kisses like he wants to devour you.
The setting sun slants through my kitchen windows as I chop vegetables, steadfastly ignoring the fact that I’m making way too much food for one person. The knife moves rhythmically against the cutting board—carrots, celery, onions—the foundation of a simple yet classic meal, and definitely not because Luke mentioned once that one of his favorite comfort foods was his mom’s chicken in gravy recipe.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I mutter to myself, tossing the vegetables into my Dutch oven. The aromatics hit the hot oil with a satisfying sizzle.
I know Luke’s flight gets in around seven—not that I checked the arrival times or anything. And I’m definitely not timing this dinner to be ready around then. That would be pathetic, considering how I walked away from him on the beach and considering he has a girlfriend.
Considering everything.
Still, my hands move with practiced efficiency as I brown the chicken, deglaze the pan with wine, and add the herbs. The familiar routine of cooking usually centers me, but today, it doesn’t seem to be helping.
I’m determined to keep things strictly platonic. So why am I cooking for him? Because it’s Luke, and he’s always hungry. And I’m a chef and just being neighborly. Right?
Or maybe he was telling the truth. I mean, I’ve not even seen him kiss Crystal; she just does those little air kisses—isn’t that a sign? Could there still be a chance…
No. I cut that thought off before it can take root. Hope is dangerous when it comes to Luke Sterling.
Back in the kitchen, the rich aroma of the cooked chicken fills the air. I taste-test the flavor, adjusting the seasonings automatically. It’s perfect—the wine is mellowed into a velvety sauce, the herbs bright but not overwhelming, and the chicken practically falls off the bone.
I’ve made dinner, and it just happens to be enough for two.
“This is getting embarrassing,” I tell my empty kitchen. But I’m already reaching for containers and planning how to package everything.
I add fresh green beans with toasted almonds because they need to be eaten tonight while they’re crisp-tender. A warm baguette, because what’s chicken without bread to soak up the sauce—what Luke calls gravy? And because I’m apparently going all in on this bout of temporary insanity, I throw in a slice of the chocolate tart I made this afternoon.
The basket I use for picnics sits on my counter, mocking me with its perfect size for this definitely not-planned care package.
“I’m just being neighborly,” I say out loud, carefully arranging everything inside. “That’s all.”
It’s ridiculous, really. We’re just friends. But even that feels like shaky ground after the kiss on the beach and the early morning text that’s been looping through my head on repeat. I shouldn’t care this much. I shouldn’t be cooking extra food just in case he comes home hungry—but let’s face it, Luke’s always hungry. And I definitely shouldn’t be standing here, debating whether leaving it at his door is a thoughtful gesture or a completely transparent one.
Neighbors regularly make dinner for each other after sharing one smoking hot kiss and then explicitly stating they need space—right?
Who am I kidding? I like cooking for Luke! So, I grab a notecard, then spend an embarrassingly long time staring at it. What do I write? ‘Welcome back’ sounds too intimate. ‘Hope your flight was good.’ sounds like I’ve been tracking his travel schedule ( which I haven’t… not really). ‘Thought you might be hungry’ is just... No.
Finally, I scribble ‘Tested a new recipe. Let me know what you think. - L .’
There. Casual. Professional, even. Just a chef looking for feedback. Right!
I check the time—7:15 PM. My heart does a little flutter. Luke’s flight should have landed by now despite the traffic delays. Which means he’ll be home soon unless...
Unless Crystal met him at the airport, unless they’re having a romantic welcome-home dinner together, or unless—“Stop it,“ I order myself firmly . I already cooked it. Letting it go to waste now would just be silly.
Wouldn’t it? “Just drop off the food, Lila, then leave.”
The evening air is warm as I cross the short distance between our apartments. There are no lights on inside yet. Good.
I set the basket carefully by the door, adjusting the note so it’s impossible to miss. For a moment, I stand there, my hands hovering over the handle as I debate whether just to take it back and pretend none of this ever happened. But then I hear it—the low rumble of an engine coming up the driveway .
My pulse kicks into overdrive as I glance toward the Jeep pulling in. It’s Luke.
I’m caught in the moment, unsure whether to run or stay, when the headlights cut off, plunging the yard into near darkness. A second later, the driver’s door swings open, and Luke steps out, his silhouette backlit by the faint glow of the vehicle’s interior light, and my heart pounds in my chest.
“Lila?” His voice is low, rough with surprise.
“Hey,” I manage, my voice higher than I’d like. “I, uh, was just dropping this off. I was testing a recipe, and… well, I thought you might be hungry.”
He glances at the basket by the door, then back at me, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I say, shifting on my feet. “But I figured... well, you’ve been traveling, and since I made enough for two…” I let my voice trail off, knowing I just gave myself away.
“Lila,” he says, his voice gentle. “Thank you.”
The way he says it—like he’s thanking me for more than just the food—makes my chest tighten. I shrug, trying to play it cool. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me,” he says, stepping closer. The light catches his face now, and I can see the exhaustion etched into his features. But there’s something else, too, something warmer in his eyes as they hold mine.
“You look tired,” I say softly, trying to break the tension.
He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long couple of days. But it’s good to be back.”
“Well, now you can eat and get some rest,” I say, gesturing toward the basket. “Enjoy.”
I start to step back, but he stops me, his hand brushing my arm. “Lila.”
I freeze, my breath catching as I meet his gaze. There’s something in his expression, something that makes my heart pound in my chest.
“Yeah?” I whisper.
He hesitates, his hand dropping reluctantly back to his side. “Nothing. Just thanks again. For this.”
I nod, feeling the moment slipping away before I can figure out what it was supposed to be. “Anytime. ”
With that, I turn and make my way back across the yard, the sound of his voice still echoing in my head. As I step inside and close the door behind me, I can’t help but wonder what he would’ve said if he hadn’t stopped himself.